Finding Paradise

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I do.”

  He gazed around. “It’s sure big and noisy.”

  “I don’t mind the noise. I like the energy.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  He coughed out a little laugh. “I like being out of prison.”

  “I guess anywhere is better than a cell.” She hadn’t thought much about Ethan’s life inside. Her focus had been on their father and his betrayal and her anger with him.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten at least a dozen takeout burgers in the past week.”

  “You’re going to have to expand your palate.”

  “For some reason, that was the thing I craved inside. I’ve become a fan of sweet potato fries.”

  Marnie had an appreciation for sweet potato fries—although she had to eat them in moderation. “You’ll need to get plenty of exercise to counteract those fries.” She looked him up and down then, noting again that he seemed incredibly fit.

  “I’ll join a gym as soon as I get settled.”

  “Are you taller than I remember?”

  “Maybe an inch. I’m definitely heavier.” His expression sobered. “Not much to do in prison besides work out. I hung with the boxing crowd. Being strong and fit keeps you safe in there.”

  Marnie didn’t want to know about his life in prison. She particularly didn’t want to feel sorry for what was his own fault. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking. “Was it bad?”

  He gave another shrug of his broad shoulders. “It wasn’t good. I think it was harder on Dad and Uncle Stuart. It’s no place for old men.”

  Marnie remembered how haggard her father had looked. But he, of all people, had himself to blame. “He’s out now,” she said because it seemed like Ethan was expecting a response.

  “I hated him for a really long time,” Ethan said quietly.

  Marnie didn’t know how to respond to that, so she waited.

  “For what he’d done to me, to Mom, to you.”

  “You knew what was going on.” Marnie had been in the dark.

  “Eventually, I knew.”

  “And you hid everything from me.” They turned the corner onto Boxler Street.

  “That got harder and harder,” Ethan said.

  Thinking back, she’d admit she’d been naïve. The repair business hadn’t made sense—cars trailered in then parked behind the solid fence of the yard. She’d never paid attention to which ones went in and out of the shop. But there’d been a steady stream of out-of-state license plates.

  “I should have asked questions,” she said.

  “By the time you were old enough to ask anything, you had your head down studying.”

  Again, she wondered about Ethan’s experience. Back then he’d seemed so much older than her, so much more capable and worldly-wise. But he’d been a kid.

  “When did you find out?” Marnie pointed to a walkway that led to the twelve-story concrete and glass building where she lived.

  “Right after Mom died. You remember the day I got my driver’s license?”

  Marnie shook her head. There’d been nothing notable about that day for her. She would have been twelve, maybe thirteen at the time, still lost in grief.

  “You and I drove all the way to Garden City.”

  She searched her brain, coming up with a distant memory. “I do remember. There was that little café with the bear statue.” She unlocked the lobby door, pushing it open.

  Ethan held the door above her and followed her inside.

  “That’s the one.”

  Marnie also remembered miles and miles of highway. “Where were we going?”

  “Denver.”

  She pressed the elevator button. “Why were we going to Denver? Wait, Dad was there too.”

  Her father hadn’t eaten lunch with them, but she remembered him being in the parking lot, arguing with Ethan. And then an image all but blew up in her mind. “He hit you.”

  Ethan nodded, and Marnie stood staring at her brother while the elevator doors opened. Then they closed again.

  “Why did he hit you?” she asked, her throat dry.

  “I was taking you away.” Ethan gave a chopped, self-conscious chuckle. “I thought we could make it out of the state before he caught us and—I don’t know—that I could get a job or something. It was absurd.”

  Marnie’s chest went hard, like it had filled with concrete. “Why did you do that?”

  Ethan’s expression hardened. “Because I found out what they were doing. And with Mom gone, Tumbleweed Fuel and Service was no place for you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Cobra stared at Section 2.12.7 of the legal code of conduct document he’d tracked down online. He rose from the desk chair in his room and swore under his breath, his fingertips turning white where he gripped the tablet. After his conversation with Silas, he’d worried he’d made a mistake. Now, he knew for sure, and it was much worse than he’d feared.

  Dropping the tablet on his bed, he headed out the door, not even bothering with a jacket in the falling snow as he paced over to Brodie’s unit. He banged on the door before opening it up.

  The room was dark and empty.

  Amped up on adrenaline, Cobra marched down the sidewalk to the Bear and Bar and found Brodie at a table with T-Two.

  “What’s up?” Brodie asked, taking in Cobra’s expression.

  “Got a minute?” Cobra asked, sliding his eyes meaningfully to T-Two.

  “Want me to get out of the way?” T-Two asked. His beer was still half full, and he hadn’t yet finished a grilled turkey sandwich.

  “No,” Brodie said. Then he looked at Cobra. “Is this private?”

  Cobra preferred to keep it private, but not enough to argue the point. “Okay if I take the Cessna tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Brodie answered, popping a fry into his mouth. “Where are you going?”

  “Balsam Ridge.”

  “You forget something down there?”

  “No.” Cobra shook his head. “Maybe Vantage Crossing too. Depends.”

  Brodie looked puzzled. He motioned to an empty chair. “Depends on what?”

  Cobra plopped down. “On where I have to go to track down all the Klondike Challenge board members.”

  “Clive is in Vantage Crossing,” Brodie said. “Rebecca’s over in Greenville but I think Bruce Carter was going to Anchorage for a couple of weeks.”

  Cobra nodded. It was going to take him a while, but he’d get it done. He’d do whatever it took to get it done.

  “You want a drink?” Brodie asked, motioning to Badger.

  “Yes.” It wasn’t like Cobra could fly anywhere tonight. He called out to Badger. “Beer’s fine.”

  Badger nodded.

  “What do you need with the board?” Brodie asked.

  “I made a mistake.” Cobra glanced T-Two’s way again, not anxious to have the whole town hear about what he’d done.

  T-Two held up a palm. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  Brodie’s brow furrowed, his gaze turning accusingly to Cobra. “We were talking shop before you got here.”

  “It’s fine,” Cobra said to T-Two. “Stay.”

  Brodie was right. Cobra was the one barging in, and he was the one asking a favor.

  Badger dropped off Cobra’s beer.

  “Marnie signed the disclaimer for the Klondike Challenge,” Cobra said as Badger walked back to the bar.

  T-Two looked confused.

  “And?” Brodie asked.

  “And I was the one who backed her into a corner and forced her to sign. She’s a lawyer, and it’s against their code of conduct.”

  “To sign a disclaimer?” Brodie asked.

  “To sign a false statement.”

  “We won fair a
nd square,” T-Two pointed out.

  “She used Mia’s address.”

  Brodie still looked confused. “That’s where she was staying.”

  “Temporarily. It was a thing. I could tell it was a thing when we were signing, but I pushed her into it anyway.”

  “Nobody cares,” T-Two said.

  “I know,” Cobra responded.

  “So, why would you fly all over Hell’s half acre looking for board members?”

  “I want them to say it was approved . . . in writing . . . in case it ever comes back on Marnie.”

  Brodie and T-Two shared a look. The look said that Cobra had lost his mind.

  After a contemplative french fry, T-Two was the first to speak. “You think somebody, somewhere, sometime in Marnie’s future is going to track down the Klondike Challenge prize disclaimer and accuse her of legal misconduct?”

  Brodie smirked. “Have you seen the board’s filing system?”

  “That’s not the point,” Cobra said.

  “Point or not, I’m not sure it’s worth burning the aviation fuel.”

  “I’ll pay for the fuel.”

  “Damn straight you will,” Brodie said.

  “What if they take away the plaque?” T-Two asked.

  “They’re not going to take away the plaque,” Cobra said. “Nobody cares how long she lived here.”

  “Our point,” Brodie said with finality. “I just saved you a buttload of money.”

  “The point is, she’s worried about it,” Cobra said, taking a drink of his beer.

  “There’s no basis for her to worry,” T-Two noted.

  “She doesn’t know that. She’s worried because of the nature of her job and just plain principle.”

  “So, you feel compelled to put her mind at ease?” Brodie asked.

  “I got her into it in the first place.” Cobra couldn’t understand why they were giving him so much grief. He was the guy paying for the fuel. What did they care how he spent his money?

  “And after you solve this imaginary problem,” Brodie said, “you’ll . . . what?”

  “Tell her.” It was patently obvious what to do next.

  “Text her?” Brodie asked leadingly. “Phone her? Send her an email?”

  Cobra wanted to deliver the letter to her in person. He wanted to see the look of relief on her face. He wanted to see her face under any circumstances, and this gave him an excuse to do that.

  “He wants to be the hero,” T-Two said.

  “Snow’s steady now,” Cobra said. He had the airplane maintenance well in hand, so it was the perfect time to take days off.

  “What do you expect to happen?” Brodie asked.

  “Why is this an interrogation?” Cobra returned.

  “Because you want my plane.”

  “You don’t want me to use your plane, fine.” Cobra guzzled down the beer.

  “Did I say that?” Brodie asked.

  “We’re messin’ with you,” T-Two said.

  “You should ask yourself why you’re letting us get to you,” Brodie said easily.

  “You know why,” Cobra said, glaring Brodie’s way.

  Brodie’s expression went dead serious. “All the more reason to stay in Alaska.”

  “Are you serious about her?” T-Two asked.

  “No,” Cobra answered. “I don’t know. I like her, sure. She’s great . . . make that fantastic. But she’s her, and I’m me.” He knew reality. He just didn’t like it. And this might be the last chance he got to see Marnie, to apologize to her and end their relationship on an even keel before he settled into the rest of his life without her.

  “I knew this whole matchmaking thing was a bad idea,” Brodie said.

  “It was a terrible idea,” Cobra agreed.

  “Well, I had fun,” T-Two said.

  Brodie looked as incredulous as Cobra felt, swinging their gazes T-Two’s way.

  * * *

  * * *

  Marnie couldn’t have imagined even tolerating her brother’s company, never mind enjoying it. He’d slept on her pullout sofa, and after a busy day at work, she’d come home to him waiting with a large takeout pizza and a six-pack of beer.

  “There’s something wrong with you city people,” he called out to her as she changed from her work clothes to a pair of yoga pants and an oversize T-shirt.

  “What’s wrong with us?” she called back through the door.

  “They put chicken, eggplant, sun-dried tomatoes, avocado and goat cheese on this pizza.”

  She emerged from the bedroom with a grin. “I’m so glad you’re expanding your palate.”

  “They looked down their noses when I asked for salami and pepperoni.”

  “You stopped at the Obverse Gourmet?”

  “I didn’t know it would be so bougie. There was a picture of a pizza in their window.”

  “They make terrific pizza.”

  “I bought some weird beer too,” he said, sounding doubtful. “The pizza place recommended it.”

  “You didn’t have to buy me dinner.” Marnie knew Ethan couldn’t have much money to his name.

  “It’s the least I can do,” he said, opening the pizza box in the middle of her compact dining table.

  The living room of her apartment opened onto the balcony with a distant view of the ocean. She was lucky enough to have a corner unit, so there was a window in the kitchen too, and one above the dining table in between. The view wasn’t great, just the apartment building across the street, but a row of palm trees dressed it up a little.

  Ethan opened two bottles of beer while Marnie set two plates on the table.

  She sat down, and they each served themselves a slice of the fragrant pizza.

  Ethan took a bite.

  “Well?” she asked him after a moment.

  He swallowed, dubiously eyeing the rest of the slice. “Better than prison food.”

  “Maybe don’t post a review,” she said on a laugh before biting into her own pizza.

  “It’s good,” he admitted. “Better than I expected. The sun-dried tomatoes are chewy.”

  “But flavorful,” she countered.

  He nodded. “Do you eat like this all the time?”

  “Not pizza very often, but it’s easy to pick things up from the deli and the bakery.” Marnie didn’t do a whole lot of cooking for one.

  “Are you happy here?” he asked with a glance around the place as they continued eating.

  “In this apartment or in LA?”

  “Both, either.” He set down his pizza and sobered. “You know, I was so glad when you left for college, so relieved that you were finally getting away.”

  “I worked hard for that scholarship.”

  A bleakness came into his eyes. “I know you did. I wish I’d left too.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” She’d never wondered that before, but she did now. It hadn’t sounded like he’d been in favor of fencing stolen cars.

  He gave a cold chuckle. “After we ran that one time . . . well, let’s just say I didn’t want to risk it again.”

  A cold chill came over her, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He beat you.”

  Ethan nodded. “Said if I ever tried again, it’d get worse.”

  “Ethan, I’m so—”

  “Not your fault. Don’t you ever think it was.” He took a drink. “I knew their secret, so I was a threat. As time went on, I got sucked deeper and deeper into the operation.” He smiled then, running his fingertip around the beer label. “But you, you were so smart, and you worked hard. You deserved everything you got.”

  Marnie had always been out of step with her family. But Ethan had seemed to fit in. Even when the truth had come out in court, he hadn’t complained, never protested that he’d been unwilling. He might have been able to reduc
e his sentence if he claimed he’d been coerced by their father.

  Ethan squared his shoulders. “I’m inspired by you. And I’m done with him.”

  “What now?” she asked, impressed.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. It’s tough to get a job with a criminal record, and I don’t have a mechanic’s license or anything.”

  “Could you get one?” she asked.

  “First thing I need to do is earn some money.”

  That made sense. He couldn’t go to trade school without a way to support himself. She wondered if she should offer him a place to stay, or maybe some cash to get started.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said with conviction, correctly reading her expression. “This is my problem, and I’m going to solve it on my own.”

  “But—”

  “I’m here for a couple of days, and then I’m going back to Kansas.”

  “Not to Merganser.” Staying with their father seemed like a terrible idea.

  “Not to Merganser,” he agreed. “The parole thing is easier if I stay in the state. Wichita doesn’t appeal to me,” he joked.

  “Maybe Topeka?” she suggested. “Or Salina? There must be jobs you could get there.”

  “I’ll find something.” He took another drink.

  “Do you need—”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I didn’t come here to sponge off you.”

  “I can loan you—”

  “No. And don’t say it again.”

  She looked at the serious expression in his eyes and realized it was important for him to do it on his own. “Okay.”

  He helped himself to another slice of pizza. “You can give me some advice, though.”

  “Sure. Legal stuff?”

  He shook his head. “Not that. I’ve been thinking about this, thinking about it a lot, especially over the past year when I knew I might get out. There was this psychologist I had to meet with in prison—it was a mandatory thing, and I hated it.”

  “You saw a psychologist?”

  “There was some do-gooder organization that pressured the governor, and we ended up with this woman, Dr. Sackett, trying to make guys open up and share their feelings.”

  Marnie couldn’t help smiling at the image. She had sympathy for Dr. Sackett.